wild is the wind

The desert is a strange place. Its weather is either one of two things: Hot as hell, and dry. Or cold as fuck, and dry. There's rarely anything in between. We do get an intermittent spattering of random climate here and there, but that's usually forgotten as the next torrent of cold or hot comes through.

Today is one of those odd times when the consistency falters and the random reigns supreme. Today the wind blows. And I'm not talking gentle breezes. I'm talking "wind-advisory-please-stay-inside-or-get-a-two-by-four-to-the-face" kind of blast.

Outside the gusts rush through the trees and buildings like a massive wave; forcing leaves, trunks, telephone poles, dirt and rock to bend, coil, snap, and take flight under its powerful will. First in one direction...and then the other. Only brief interludes of reprieve where the foliage and wildlife sags, spent and tortured, limply awaiting the next blow. Above, the sky, a brilliant blue, seems oblivious to the brutality and violence below. But like puffs of factory smoke creeping in to pollute a passing daydream, the clouds move in.

Every once in a while I hear the sound of wood scraping glass, and it reminds me of a multitude of horror movies, where the little boy is huddled in bed under his covers, afraid of the monster outside, who is really a big old elm in their yard. I hear the unusual sound of metal clanging metal, and it reminds me of the bell on ships that signals danger, or maybe arrival. I would hate to be on a ship during wind like this. To be tossed about on the ocean, like some child's toy, holding on for dear life amidst the spray, praying to any god that would listen. My life would flash before my eyes as the waves crashed and flipped before me, threatening death underneath the watery depths. Then as suddenly as it happened, the wind would die down until it was eerily still. The boat would scarcely rock, the water flat and smooth, barely a ripple in its surface.

I would marvel at such a wild change in the weather, wonder which prayers worked, or if it was simply a natural coincidence. To be in dire straights, smack in the middle of chaos and within a few frantic heartbeats back in a moment of utter stillness; that's....wild.

And wild is the wind....

Quote of the Day: Every writer I know has trouble writing. ~Joseph Heller